Grandpa Wilson
July 21, 1912 - August 1, 1991 (I can't believe it has been 20 years!)
He was a cute little boy!
This is how I remember my grandpa when he would visit us in California. He LOVED the sun!
1976, Grandpa bought Eric and me Boogie Boards, we had so much fun playing at the beach with them!
Grandpa and his horses
Mom, Me, Dad, Billy (Eric's friend), and Eric when went to Payson for the Onion Days Celebration over Labor Day weekend, probably in 1988. This picture was at Payson's Downs, we were waiting for the horse race to start!
Grandpa sent this dress to me in a package. I wish I had a picture of the whole dress, it was so pretty, and I felt so special!
Dale was many things in this world, but first and above all, he was a father and a grandfather. In all his relationships his children came first. He was giving and generous to everyone especially to his children. In all his relationships his children came first. He had a special charm. His piercing blue eyes and captivating smile endeared him to family and friends alike. Most found Dale to be his own man - - a friend to many, but close to no one. He was a thoroughbred like the horses he raised - - handsome, well bred, well educated, and high spirited; even when bridled, he was hard to lead.
He had a sincere compassion for others less fortune than himself. In adversity Dale was always there for those in need. He helped both financially and gave of his time as well to many. He had a keen sense of fair-play and couldn’t tolerate hypocrisy or pretense. He detested snobbishness. He took disappointment and tragedy stoically, keeping the pain inside, masked carefully under wit and good humor. He wanted to be the giver, not the receiver on all occasions. But beneath the surface and carefully hidden was a complex perceptive mind and heart of a poet. This gave him a special sensitivity and tenderness. On occasion when touched his eyes would fill. He loved poetry and as long as he was able - - music and dancing. Edgar Allen Poe had a special fascination for him. He had repertoire of his favorite poems a mile long that he could recite from memory to the end of his days. Some were humorous, some tragic, and some hauntingly beautiful. His two favorites were written by a little waitress he met in Billings Montana. He requested that this one be read on this occasion:
Wasted Sympathy
By Omar Van Seegrave
Sympathy for me ‘tis a wasted thought.
Rather you should envy what sorrow has brought.
Should one pity a soul who can understand
Not from trials of others but first hand.
Perhaps my eyes see more of disappointment and despair;
But these same eyes see more of the fair.
So feel not sympathy for me,
Rather glory in my choice;
For while you stagger in monotony
I may sigh but still rejoice.
Dale has come to be laid to rest - - home to Cow-Lane where he longed to be - - where horses graze and lilacs bloom and Peteetneet creek banked with buttercups ripples softly through the night. But he that dwelt in yonder field is not here. He has gone where eagles soar and thoroughbreds run free.
He was a cute little boy!
This is how I remember my grandpa when he would visit us in California. He LOVED the sun!
1976, Grandpa bought Eric and me Boogie Boards, we had so much fun playing at the beach with them!
Grandpa and his horses
Mom, Me, Dad, Billy (Eric's friend), and Eric when went to Payson for the Onion Days Celebration over Labor Day weekend, probably in 1988. This picture was at Payson's Downs, we were waiting for the horse race to start!
Grandpa sent this dress to me in a package. I wish I had a picture of the whole dress, it was so pretty, and I felt so special! Grandpa was a funny man. He loved to recite songs and poetry. I loved to go to the horse races with him. If his horse won we got to go and get our picture taken with the horse and jockey.
This is his eulogy, it was written by his cousin Marie Douglass Stevenson
Dale was many things in this world, but first and above all, he was a father and a grandfather. In all his relationships his children came first. He was giving and generous to everyone especially to his children. In all his relationships his children came first. He had a special charm. His piercing blue eyes and captivating smile endeared him to family and friends alike. Most found Dale to be his own man - - a friend to many, but close to no one. He was a thoroughbred like the horses he raised - - handsome, well bred, well educated, and high spirited; even when bridled, he was hard to lead.
He had a sincere compassion for others less fortune than himself. In adversity Dale was always there for those in need. He helped both financially and gave of his time as well to many. He had a keen sense of fair-play and couldn’t tolerate hypocrisy or pretense. He detested snobbishness. He took disappointment and tragedy stoically, keeping the pain inside, masked carefully under wit and good humor. He wanted to be the giver, not the receiver on all occasions. But beneath the surface and carefully hidden was a complex perceptive mind and heart of a poet. This gave him a special sensitivity and tenderness. On occasion when touched his eyes would fill. He loved poetry and as long as he was able - - music and dancing. Edgar Allen Poe had a special fascination for him. He had repertoire of his favorite poems a mile long that he could recite from memory to the end of his days. Some were humorous, some tragic, and some hauntingly beautiful. His two favorites were written by a little waitress he met in Billings Montana. He requested that this one be read on this occasion:
Wasted Sympathy
By Omar Van Seegrave
Sympathy for me ‘tis a wasted thought.
Rather you should envy what sorrow has brought.
Should one pity a soul who can understand
Not from trials of others but first hand.
Perhaps my eyes see more of disappointment and despair;
But these same eyes see more of the fair.
So feel not sympathy for me,
Rather glory in my choice;
For while you stagger in monotony
I may sigh but still rejoice.
Dale has come to be laid to rest - - home to Cow-Lane where he longed to be - - where horses graze and lilacs bloom and Peteetneet creek banked with buttercups ripples softly through the night. But he that dwelt in yonder field is not here. He has gone where eagles soar and thoroughbreds run free.
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